cold cough syrup
by crunchyiceinmilk
Summary: A story of Keith and his new ghost roommate, Lance. Very slow burn. Romance is largely based on my own experiences in the convoluted world of love. Klance.
1. Chapter 1

It was a choice. A conscious effort he put in. Yeah, cause moving into a haunted apartment is a choice anyone would make. Of course.

In all fairness, he had spent nearly a year in research to find the most viable place; haunted, but not particularly dangerous to live in. Something manageable, but still not normal. Maybe some casual moving of his stuff, random mishaps that really aren't more than a regular, vague annoyance.

He found this in a small apartment two towns from where he currently lived with his brother. It had been on the market for nearly two years after the last couple tenants moved out, complaining of it being haunted or just not compatible to live in.

Today would be the first day he'd tour the place, get the layout, and, if he was lucky, he might even confirm if the place was haunted or not. That would be something. But, he didn't expect it. It was only the first time he'd be there. Don't get your hopes up, Keith.

The landlord was an middle-aged man with an affable disposition. His smile was gentle, his greetings warm. Keith was thrown slightly by the unexpectedly genial man, but he returned the kindness with curt nods and a thankful word or two. He didn't quite know how to respond to it, but the man didn't seem to have any qualms with his apparent lack of social aptness.

"It's been empty for two years now, and I know that's not attractive to hear, but I feel it's pretty important to mention," the landlord spoke as he flipped through his keys in front of the door with the number '437' on it in generic, worn and scratched gold, "It's a handsome place, though. Got more than enough space for one person, an updated kitchen, it's clean… the tenants before were all good people."

Keith gave another light nod that seemed like the millionth just in this conversation. He wasn't quite sure how to go about asking why the place had been abandoned- if he believed it could be haunted or not. So he stayed silent, and kept his responses short. Of course, that was until he couldn't stop himself.

"Is it haunted?"

"Haunted?" the older man paused and looked to Keith. The key sat in the lock, half turned, "Well," a laugh stopped his words as he completed the turn and pushed the door open. It creaked, "That could be one way to put all that's happened in this place. I'm not sure that way or the next."

Keith bit his lip and gave one more mod. God, he had to stop doing that. The landlord waved out a hand, beckoning Keith to enter the place as he stayed outside.

The first room was cold; empty save for a broken down couch shoved off to the side. The walls were bland scales of grey and white. Dull dark blue curtains adorned the windows, half open and showing off the bright view of the outside. A sliding glass door could open to a small, gated balcony.

The lights weren't on. Neither was any sort of heating and it was mid December. Keith pulled his jacket closer; he'd never been the biggest fan of the cold. To the left he noted was the kitchen. It was moderately sized and open, you could see the living room from it. The counter tops were black granite, the cabinets stark white.

It wasn't very interesting. Keith looked to the right. Two doors.

"The door closest to you goes to the bathroom, the other one to the bedroom. And there's a door in the kitchen- I don't think you can really see it from where you are. It goes to a closet/laundry room duo."

"Alright."

Finally Keith didn't just nod. He gave himself a mental pat on the back before taking the few steps to the bathroom. The door opened with a drawn out squeak, and he flicked on the lights. They blinked, the noise they made ridiculously close to what you might hear in a horror movie. He shook his head. The bathroom was nondescript.

The bedroom was nice, Keith decided. The window was large and looked out over a road, a general convenience store on the other side of it. The location was hindering on being out of town, and so the buildings weren't on top of each other.

The closet was smaller than he might expect, but Keith didn't really mind. He didn't have a lot to put in it. So, with quiet footsteps he wandered his way out of the room, closing the door gingerly.

"I can leave you to look it over some more, if you'd like. It's not usually what I do, but I think I can make an exception for a place that's given me so much trouble." a croaking but warm-hearted laugh.

"That'd be great…"

Keith dropped his bag on the couch, dark violet and storming grey eyes once more scanning the room. The landlord shut the door with an assurance of where to find him, and a hearty wish of good luck. Keith showed his gratitude with a soft, distracted thanks and then he was alone.

He could hear his own breathing in the space, could hear the very faint sound of the landlord walking away. It was midday. The neighbors must be at work, or school, or whatever they did for it to be so completely, starkly quiet. He took a slow seat on the couch. He ignored the squeals of the frame at his weight.

"Is anyone else here?"

His words were hollow, and they reverberated off the polished wooden floors and the blank plaster walls.

"It must be lonely, having no one for two years."

Keith set his hands in his lap anxiously, shifting around. He pressed his knees together, excitement bubbling in his stomach. He pushed it down. Now, now. No getting your hopes up. You know that, Keith.

"I might move in. Would that make you happy? Or do you prefer no one lives here?"

His foot tapped on the floor, and he mentally berated himself for it. If he was making noise, then he couldn't hear any sounds from any apparition that could be there.

A sigh escaped his lips. There'd been nothing. He nearly stood, but gave in to a hope that if he stayed for one more minute there might be _something._

There was nothing.

He let out a groan of a breath and he crossed his arms. Dammit, he _had_ gotten his hopes up. All when he'd told himself time and time again _not to_. Way to go, Keith. Get a grip on your emotions.

He stood with a fervor of self directed anger and shook his head. The strap of his bag was rested on his shoulder in no time, and now his ripped up and tattered red converse smacked against the floor. He hesitated one more time at the door, his hand gripping the knob dangerously tight. Maybe, _maybe._

But still, nothing.

"Dammit…"

It was just a whisper under his breath as he threw the door open and stomped one foot through the threshold.

The door slammed shut and Keith trudged his way down the hall. What a waste of time. He was so _stupid._ Why did he have to waste his time hoping that that stupid apartment would be haunted?

Keith had no luck. Of course there was nothing. God damn it all…

Okay, Keith. Take a chill pill. A couple breaths. He paused, both feet on different steps in the dim and dreary stairwell. His chin tilted up. He looked at the bottom of the stairs above him. Dark, boring grey. _Calm down._

He should just take this place. Maybe it's not haunted, yeah, but it was a great deal. A low price, a nice place, a caring landlord. Plus, it was only about an hour drive from his brother. Besides, he didn't even _actually_ know for sure.

He continued down the stairs.

The landlord was where he said he'd be.

"I'll take it."

Keith stormed his way over, slapping a hand down on the desk and startling the kindly man.

"You will?"

He sounded unbelieving. Keith nodded, averting his eyes and glaring at the ground. Embarrassment filled his mind at his outburst, showing itself as horribly contained animosity directed right at a small crack in the tile to the left near a trash can.

"W-well, that's great. Unexpected, but, great." another laugh.

The next couple hours were spent going through paperwork, settling financials and figuring out this and that. The landlord was more than happy to be renting out the apartment that'd been a thorn in his side for two years, and Keith was happy to be getting a place of his own to be independent.

Keith left with a new sense of autonomy.


	2. Chapter 2

Lance had woken up that morning feeling no different than the one before. Well, he hadn't really "woken up" more than come out of a strange session of serious zoning out.

He half opened the curtains, enough to let in light but not enough to cause any suspicion. And, he took up a place staring out of the window blankly, watching the cars race by, getting on with their lives. He didn't let his lip quiver for more than a couple seconds before turning.

He didn't know how long he'd stared out of the window. His sense of time had been dilated so terribly that days could pass like seconds and seconds could pass like days to him. He didn't know how long he'd been alone, how long he'd been isolated.

It could have been years, could have been months. All he knew was it was agonizing.

Sometimes he'd sit on the couch and listen to his neighbors to the right as she and her husband screamed at each other for this or that. Sometimes he'd listen to the sweet old lady to the left singing to her chubby cat. But they weren't always around, and often the days passed silently and slowly.

He'd be caught up in his mind so much he'd be surprised if he wouldn't be labeled clinically insane. But then again he had never done anything that could be thought of as crazy, he hadn't had far out thoughts that would scare him.

He just sat in a daze. There would be days where his mind would be full of ideas, and there'd be days where he couldn't work up the strength to think of anything. It all just passed in a slow, saddening haze.

He was startled out of his thoughts at the sound of a voice. Oh, was someone here to clean again? People came to clean sometimes. But someone had just come to clean a few days before. That sounded wrong. But then again it could have been longer than a few days. Lance had no idea.

Who was talking? There didn't seem to be any verbal responses from anyone else other than the one person. Was the guy talking to himself? Lance wouldn't be surprised at that, really. Honestly, he'd relate to him more than anything else.

Wait, there was another voice. Lance couldn't quite make out what was being said until the door opened. Was someone… taking a tour of the place? Oh, oh, there was a guy walking in.

He looked young. He looked angry. He looked bored. Lance took a few excited steps forward as the guy started walking around. Was there really a possibility of someone moving in after it's been vacant for so long? Lance briefly considered telling himself not to get too expectant, but he shoved that thought aside. It'd been too long since he'd felt this way. He didn't care about the fall afterwards at the moment.

He waited patiently as the man observed the apartment. Well, it wasn't actually _patiently_ per se, more of jumping around and shoving a balled up hand to his wildly grinning lips. It wasn't until the assumed but never seen landlord shut the door and the man sat down that Lance crowded him. He stood, shoving his face up all close and personal, trying to get a proper read on the guy.

His face was very, very pretty, Lance concluded. But his fashion was less so.

"Is anyone else here?"

Wait, what? Was the guy talking to Lance? Or someone else? Lance was pretty sure there wasn't anyone else in the apartment- but then again he was kinda oblivious. But what should he do? He backed up worriedly, looking around.

"It must be lonely, having no one for two years."

Two years? Okay, two years. So it'd been that long since anyone had lived in the place. He looked to the ground, feeling suddenly a lot less elated. That's such a long time… he missed his friends, his family. He hadn't seen them in _two years_ at least.

He blinked when the guy didn't say more and looked back at him. Was he expecting some sort of answer? Lance glanced around, his lips an anxious frown. There wasn't much he could do to show this man he was here. He couldn't talk- no one could hear him, there was nothing to move around and-

"I might move in. Would that make you happy? Or do you prefer no one lives here?"

He might move in? He might move in!? Lance could kiss the dude. He needed someone around for fear of his mental state. But he definitely was expecting a response now. Lance still didn't know how to give one. His game was a bit rusty. That, and, he wasn't thinking the clearest with all the energy bubbling up.

But then the guy was leaving. Wait, wait, no, no, no. Don't leave, Lance was still trying to figure it out. He rushed over to the guy, but just missed him as he slammed the door. Lance was more oblivious to what was going on than he thought. He'd sat and not noticed the man getting up and walking out for way too long.

He bit his lip, sucking in a breath he didn't need. Oh, _no._ Dammit, he should have done something! Should've touched the guy's arm, grabbed his bag, opened a door! Why the fuck are all these ideas coming about now!?

He slipped his hands in his short hair and pulled in despair. This was it, he was gonna be alone forever and ever and ever and he was gonna go crazy and be one of those scary ghosts because he couldn't get a grip on reality and was just so isolated. He didn't want to be a scary ghost!

He sunk to the floor, eyes watering. And now that guy, his only hope- do _not_ even consider thinking of a Star Wars reference in the midst of this mess, Lance- had just walked out. And he probably wasn't gonna come back. Wait, why wouldn't he come back?

Hold up, Lance. Calm down. Why's this got you so worked up in the first place? Don't people normally _not_ want a ghost to be in the place they're living in? So the fact that that guy didn't get any ghost shit means that he'll probably actually be more likely to take the place! See, Lance, quit being so overdramatic.

But if that was right that meant Lance was gonna have to be careful if he wanted him to stay. He couldn't let the guy know he was there at all, even accidentally. He didn't want him leaving like the last couple people had… that would just be too much of a let down. This is probably his only chance to have a companion in the foreseeable future. And he didn't want to lose that.


	3. Chapter 3

The next few weeks were filled with moving. The couch in the apartment had been dragged out and replaced with a much nicer one. A few boxes were scattered in the corners of the rooms they needed to be unpacked in, furniture was brought in and set up. A bed, a dresser, a desk in the bedroom. A coffee table, TV and it's stand, a side table in the living room. Everything a person would need to live comfortably.

Lance had watched with surprised interest at each new thing that was placed in his space. He'd been overjoyed to find that the man, who he'd overheard being called Keith, had actually got the place and _would_ be moving in. Lance had to stop himself from unpacking the boxes for the guy for fear of being caught. Hey, he at least _wanted_ to do something nice.

He spent a lot of time pacing around, searching through Keith's stuff, trying to find something that could make him feel real again. And it did make him feel a lot better, truth be told. He wouldn't be alone anymore! It made him squeal with delight.

It had been a few days since anything had been brought, and so Lance figured Keith would be moving in any day now. This happened late in the afternoon as the door opened and the now familiar guy stepped in. He pulled along a suitcase. Another man, this one much bigger and stronger looking followed suit, a duffle bag on his shoulder.

"Well, Keith, it's certainly a nice place. And for a great price too. I'm proud." the larger man spoke, a smile on his face as he looked around for the first time.

Keith just shook his head and gave a scoff of a laugh, "Yeah. It's only a nice price cause there's a gruesome story of some dude dying here and now everyone claims it's haunted."

Lance paused and took a step back, biting his lip. He knew that there was a story, he _knew._ But it was still hard to hear. He wondered briefly if it'd been hard for his friends and family to read about. Of course it would be… Lance looked away, holding himself.

"Well, as long as the ghosts don't kill you in your sleep."

"C'mon, Shiro, you know I'm better than that. If a ghost tries to kill me in my sleep they've got another thing coming."

"Yeah, that they do."

They were joking about it. Lance took a seat on the nice new sofa, his hands gripping each other. They didn't have a clue about how hard it actually was, how terrified Lance was that maybe, just maybe, he could actually twist his mind up enough to want to kill someone. He shifted around, pulling his knees up. He just needed to calm down.

"Alright, let's get to unpacking. I've got work to get to in a few hours."

"Mmm, okay…"

The two quickly went to work, emptying the boxes in no time. There weren't that many to begin with, though. Throughout it all the two would have casual chit chat about this and that. It was sweet to hear, to watch. Lance missed that. He missed that dearly. He wished he could speak with them, with anyone.

Before Lance knew it the two were parting, a hug was shared and genuine 'good luck's were offered before the older left. And then, Keith was alone. Or, really, as alone as you could get with a ghost residing in your apartment.

"I know you're here." Keith spoke, one hand on the door from where he'd closed it behind Shiro.

Lance started, breath that he didn't need catching in his throat. What? He'd been so careful, how did he know? All Lance had done was…

"I saw those glasses be righted when they were about to fall."

Lance crossed his arms, suddenly feeling defensive. He turned his side to his knew roommate, huffing and grumbling to himself. He was comforted minutely by the fact that he knew Keith couldn't hear him.

"Why didn't you show me you were here before? I would've been excited. I would've even tried to talk to you." Keith took a seat on the couch, staring off at nothing in particular, waiting for some sort of response.

Lance just rolled his eyes and sighed. Yeah, he was just trying to help. He didn't do anything, simply stayed in his spot and frowned. He wanted to do something, but he really didn't know what would convey his thoughts best.

"Here, I've got an idea." Keith stood suddenly and walked to the island where a notepad and a pen sat. Oh, _oh_ … this guy was smart. Real smart. Lance would've never thought of that, "Can you write on this?"

Lance jumped up and bounded over to Keith, picking up the pen faster than anything he'd ever done in his waking hours. And quickly he scribbled out a message. He'd be able to talk to someone! He'd finally, _finally_ be able to talk!

'I didn't know what to do…'

It was far too rushed and quite illegible. It'd been years since he'd written anything, and on top of that he was rushing. The all capital letters were smushed and scratchy, much like someone's who doesn't quite know the right pressure to apply, who's forgotten just how certain letters end.

"You didn't… you didn't know what to do? Whoa, you're actually here… there's actually someone here…" Keith seemed to have forgotten that he wasn't alone even as he was musing that he finally had proof he wasn't. He looked taken by surprise, elated. "This is so cool, so cool…" he mumbled under his breath, and you could see the energy in his eyes, "What's your name?"

Lance paused before quickly scribbling again.

'The name's Lance. And you're Keith, right?'

"Oh my God! You're Lance! And you know my name. You're the guy who died here. You're actually here-… I'm making real contact…" his eyes flitted up to where he assumed Lance was from where he was writing, and Lance's non-beating heart nearly went into cardiac arrest. Oh my cheese, he was so cute.

'Why do you have a mullet? I'm the one who's frozen in time, not you.'

Well, looks like Lance's social skills got a tad bit rusty.

"A mullet? It's not-" Keith shook his head, suddenly confused. He just made contact with a ghost and the guy decides to insult his hairstyle? Doesn't he have like… more important things to do? "Why does that matter? Gosh, if I knew you were this rude I wouldn't have tried to talk."

'Hey, hey, wait. Don't get all nasty on me, mullet. I happen to have not talked to anyone in years. Of course I'm gonna have a serious reaction to such a disaster of a haircut. Disappointing.'

"I really don't think you're in a place to talk like that, _Lance._ I could just as easily ignore you and be done with it. I don't _have_ to talk to you."

'Yes, you do actually! If you start to ignore me I can just make your life hell. I've got free reign over all your stuff and you can't even touch me.'

Keith just growled and glared at the striking red ink on the page, at the chicken scratch of handwriting. His arms crossed and he suddenly regretted ever trying to meet this asshole of a ghost.

"Whatever…" he spun angrily on his heel and began to stomp away, "I'm going to take a shower and if you fucking follow me…" he paused, needing a second to think of a threat, "I'll throw away all pens and pencils in this apartment."

It wasn't a very scary threat. And it was all the more empty when Lance considered that Keith wouldn't even know if he followed him into the bathroom. But Lance was respectful and he let out a giggle as he sat on the couch. This was gonna be fun. So, so much fun.


	4. Chapter 4

A handful of months passed of this. Lance would get Keith's attention and scribble on a notepad. Often it was some sort of outlandish pickup line, sometimes it was a sort of jab about how the other did something.

'Ewww, why do you put the milk first?'

'Who the fuck microwaves their ice cream?'

'Putting ice cubes in your milk? Really, Keith? Just when I was trying to think better of you.'

Keith always responded with a scoff and an eye roll. It was his life, and he was gonna live it the way he wanted to, regardless of a douchebag ghost.

But, their relationship didn't really go beyond that. Silly jokes, mindless conversation on Lance's end and bland ignorance on Keith's. And thrown in was a little bit of Lance's snooping and his urge to mess with other people's stuff.

Sometimes, of course, Lance would silently aid Keith. Whenever the guy left the house for whatever job he did, Lance would clean up. So what? He got bored easy now. So, he'd clean sheets, wipe down the counters, do the dishes or laundry. But if Keith noticed, he never said anything.

He'd just look at the cleaned thing with no particular emotion in his eyes, then he'd blink, and then he'd turn and continue with his day. Lance thought this was because he didn't care what Lance did or didn't do. Though, Lance also could never determine what Keith thought of things. That guy had a serious poker face.

Well, he didn't _really_ have a poker face. He just… didn't always think to emote. Lance sometimes found this cute. Especially when his firm and borderline scary exterior would crack at the simplest of things. Weird things, yes, but still simple things. Like pretty knives, motorbikes, anything under the sun about aviation… Lance enjoyed watching Keith.

He liked to observe him, to get to know him. It was nice. Keith was interesting, to say the least. He did odd things, he liked strange things. Lance wanted to know the next abnormal action he'd take.

It was nearly four in the morning when Keith came back home. Lance was used to him having ridiculous work hours. He'd asked about it once, but hadn't gotten an answer besides a slammed door and a glare at nothing. Lance had pouted at that, but it was out of his mind quick enough.

The young ghost had been lounging on the couch, flipping through one of Keith's books when the owner of the apartment had plodded in. He looked tired, and he dropped his black duffle bag unceremoniously on the coffee table. The current inhabitant of the sofa had to jump away to avoid being in the way of Keith flopping down there unceremoniously.

Keith looked just so… done. Lance stood and leaned down, resting his hands on his own knees as he observed the other, face inquisitive and worried, eyebrows raised and lips tipped down.

"I know you're getting in my personal space. Get away." was the frustrated grumble that came from the one on the couch, startling Lance.

"Pshhhttt…" Lance huffed and stood up quickly to find his notepad and precious blue pen. He had, in fact, forced Keith to buy him _blue_ pens; because red ones just couldn't cut it.

'I was _worried_ , Keith. What's up?'

"Nothing's up, you idiot. I'm just tired. Leave me alone for once."

'Oh, come on. I leave you alone a lot. You don't even need to know I'm here! You can't see me or hear me. It's not like it's hard to ignore me.'

"I'm not even gonna attempt to prove to you just how false it is that you 'leave me alone _a lot_ ', and I can't just ignore you. If you get close it gets all cold and it pisses me off."

Lance paused and stepped back. He took a seat on the coffee table, his pout even larger than before. Well, damn. He couldn't very well argue with that. A sigh danced in the air as the notepad and pen were sat down. What could he do?

Oh, oh! There we go. He shot up and hurried away, running off to the kitchen, where the linen closet was. He opened it quickly, rooted through it, and found his haul as two blankets. He was fast to make his way back to the alive one of the two- even though that could be debated based on the amount of energy each had- and promptly threw all the blankets neatly onto Keith.

If he was cold, that would warm him up. The ghost backed himself up, resting his hands on his hips. What else could he do? Maybe make hot chocolate. Keith had denied that he liked it when Lance asked, of course, but Lance had watched the guy make a cup of the stuff whenever he was tired or stressed. It was endearing, in Lance's opinion. It was like coffee for the guy.

So Lance turned back to the kitchen, intent on making hot chocolate. It just so happened that he was great at making it! Hah. Thanks, Hunk. So, he went to work, and within a few minutes he had a mug of the milky brown liquid in his hands, and was carting it to the guy on the couch.

He thought for a few minutes as he set the mug down on the coffee table that Keith had fallen asleep. He hadn't responded to having blankets thrown on him, and he hadn't yelled when hearing Lance mess around in the kitchen. So, Lance had every right to figure he was not conscious. After all, Keith was usually too pissy to let Lance do any of that stuff.

But then, as Lance took a seat on the table to contemplate carrying him to his bed, Keith popped open an eye. His voice followed soon after, dull and gravely, exasperated.

"What did you do now?"

Lance scoffed, offended. He'd just made a cup of hot chocolate, jeez. It wasn't like he broke something. So, he grabbed up the mug and held it out to him. And Keith stared at it for a full minute, unamused, uncaring.

"What the hell is that?"

Lance rolled his eyes and pressed the drink closer. He didn't have a free hand to write anything down, so he just hoped Keith would trust him for once and take the damn peace offering.

Keith did, after a very, very skeptical once over of the mug. He sat up reluctantly and took the hot ceramic in his own hands. He hated the brief contact he had made with Lance, though, as he took it. It had been like sticking your hand in a bucket of ice, but only a brush of fingers.

That, and, how Lance felt wasn't completely solid. It was like running your hand through a simple syrup- smooth with slight resistance. But somehow when Lance touched him, it felt substantial. Keith didn't understand how it worked.

Either way, Keith took a tentative sip of the drink. And immediately, his nose crinkled up and he pushed his head away, looking at the hot chocolate like it'd betrayed him.

"It tastes like watery, milky cocoa powder. What the fuck did you do to it?"

Okay, so, maybe Lance wasn't so good at making hot chocolate. But he had thought he was, honest. And he had been expecting Keith to like it. Maybe he'd forgotten in two years? It'd be understandable.

Lance bit his lip, freezing. Fuck, he hadn't meant to make it bad. It'd been meant as a good thing, not something bad. He decided to ghost Keith this time, not even touching the notepad or pen. No, he was too scared to.

He didn't want to make it worse somehow.

"God, Lance." it was a groan, frustrated as Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, setting the mug down on the coffee table, "It's hot chocolate! How can you mess it up so bad?"

Lance shifted around and curled up a bit. Well, this was a mistake. And now he was being judged and accused and clearly his peace offering wasn't appreciated.

"Whatever. Thanks for trying. Just next time, _ask_ before you waste stuff."

Huh? Had Keith just said _thank you?_ Well, Lance hadn't expected that one. He blinked a few times, staring at the guy opposite of him. He'd totally figured Keith would wanna stab him with one of those knives of his, or maybe completely ignore him for his blunder.

But then he said thanks. Albeit begrudgingly, but still a show of gratitude nonetheless.

A smile perked up Lance's lips and relief flooded his system. He hadn't done some ultimate wrong. Thank heavens. Without further ado, he snatched up the pen and began scribbling away.

'Sorry it's bad. I haven't made anything in years and I guess I forgot? Also, I couldn't taste it, so… sorry. I was trying.'

Keith simply read the words before shaking his head and moving around to lay on the couch once more, this time curled up in the blankets. And Lance, well, he felt like they were alright.

So, he stood and walked away, off to do something or other to distract himself while he let Keith sleep. The guy needed it, at least from how he looked. That, and it was way too early morning to have stayed up to.


	5. Chapter 5

It was another week before Lance decided he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer and just had to ask just what his housemate did. And this time, he wouldn't relent to those guarded, irritated glares and scowls.

He had scribbled his message out long before the other got home that night- or rather early morning. He'd had to rephrase his thoughts more than once, trying to capture what exactly he wanted to stay. The page before was now full of blue scratches and blobs of where he'd vehemently crossed out all no-go's.

'Okay, I really gotta know. What do you do? Are you like a stripper or something? Is that why you come home so late? C'mon, please, if I could die more than I have, I would be. I just need one answer. Simple, yeah? Pllleeeeasssee? Pretty please? I'll do whatever if you just tell me.'

Was what he went with. It was quite pathetic to Lance really. After nearly three hours of debating and heavy, deliberate concentration, he couldn't come up up with anything more clever than begging and bargaining. He really had lost his touch. Or maybe he'd never had it. He didn't know anymore.

So for the next hour after quite forcefully shutting down the part of his brain thinking up ways to make the query more convincing, he ended up pacing around the apartment. He had nothing else to do. He began to wonder if he could maybe get Keith to get some sort of cat or something.

Anything that could entertain him, stay with him when the actual human was gone off to God knows where. Because he feared he couldn't handle the isolation for much longer without flipping into insanity. God, it was so lonely.

It was when he'd finally slipped into one of his blissful sleep-esque revieres on the couch that he heard the front door click open, heard the chain lock be slid into place, heard shuffling of shoes being kicked off and socked feet padding across hardwood flooring.

What a sound it was. Somehow simultaneously grounding and incredibly depressing to hear for Lance. Knowing he could never, ever do that again. Get home from work, toss your keys haphazardly in the dish, kick off your shoes and drop into bed. But it was also so present that it reminded him he wasn't entirely alone.

He had at least someone, no matter how incredibly passive and uncaring Keith could come off as. He smiled whether or not he felt down, he pushed through his thoughts despite that his newest somewhat unwilling companion couldn't possibly see it.

It made his stomach feel an odd sense of emptiness. A sort of dread. But he ignored it in favor hurrying over to where he'd tacked up his query to the wall, somewhere Keith would definitely see it.

And when he sidled up to the other man, he found him reading over the blue ink with level, unreadable eyes. He didn't seem phased by the question, merely bored, or maybe a bit vexed. Lance couldn't quite tell- it'd been too long since he'd been an expert in picking up nuances in people's expressions.

"Why do you wanna know so bad? Why does it matter?" Was what the other finally said as he took a step back, hitching his duffle bag up a bit more on his shoulder as his eyes flickered over to the colder presence in the room.

The weird thing was- or maybe not so weird, Lance was getting progressively easier to feel in a room, like his aura was becoming ever more there and palpable. It both unnerved Keith and comforted him. He didn't know quite why for either.

Lance, though, was quick to bring his pen up to the college ruled lines, giving a fast, short worded answer. Because he didn't honestly have a detailed master plan of some sort. Simply,

'I'm really, really curious.'

And Keith supposed that was valid. It didn't mean he _wanted_ to open up, just that he could get where the guy was coming from. So he blinked, once, twice. His lips twitched into a deeper scowl. Then he spoke up.

"Well, I can say for certain I'm _not_ a stripper. I'm just… kinda like a YouTuber." his voice was low, barely more than a whisper. Almost shy, in a stingy kind of way.

'Ooooohh YouTube? What kinda videos? Can I watch? Are you like super popular- like Jenna Marbles? Well, no one's as well known as she is, what am I saying. Anyway, tell me?'

Keith had to physically take a step back at the sheer zeal in the writing, just how excited the person he couldn't see was. It was… _strange._ Very, very strange. He saw the excitement in the words, could see the slight shake in the floating pen of hands that trembled from the energy coursing through. But, there was no one to be seen.

He couldn't identify a smile, couldn't see a twinkle in the eyes. Hell, he couldn't even see a face, or hear the elated voice. All he had was written words on slightly wrinkled lined paper…

"I scope out haunted houses and places."

There was a pause then. Keith wouldn't look up to the sheet. And, even more he was too unsure of his own thoughts on so many things he didn't know how to face a reaction from the other, even though Lance would probably just cheer about it.

'Oh, hah. I dunno what I expected other than that- you did actually try and talk to _me_. But that's really cool dude. Can I watch some? Goodness, though, they'll probably freak me out and I _am_ a ghost.'

When Keith had finally looked to the words Lance wrote, he was even more hesitant to respond. Well, there wasn't much going back now, though. So he swallowed his pride and then shrugged.

"I-I guess you can? There's not much really stopping you. You can always just use the TV…"

Wow, that was weird for Keith. He didn't think he'd ever spoken so abashedly. But here he was, getting flustered in front of a strange ghost that he lived with. God dammit, the irony.

His entire life he'd found himself infinitely more bold and comfortable with those anyone would deem dead compared to the living. But here he was, doing the exact opposite of that when he never even acted that way in front of alive people. Gosh. I thought I told you to get your emotions in check?

'Really? I can use the tv? I thought I wasn't allowed to touch your stuff.'

To which Keith simply stared. He didn't know how to respond to that, he _had_ yelled it into Lance to keep his hands _off_ what wasn't his, but… here he was giving permission to something so expensive. Well, fuck. Whatever. No backsies now.

"Just whatever, use the TV if you want. I'm taking a shower." it was a grumble of the words, stubborn and mopey sounding- like he was angry, but more in the angsty teenager way.

So, Keith turned on his heel and made way for his bathroom, his arms crossed while Lance was left to ponder this new open door. Whoa, that was quite a step in a direction Lance entirely hadn't been expecting. At least this quickly. But he was fast to jump on it, too.

The young ghost found his way clicking through video after video of 'abandoned building exploring' and 'staying 24 hrs at a haunted house', hoping to find the channel Keith had claimed to have. He had never told him the name, so Lance was left with hoping to stumble upon it.

Which, he actually happened to do. It was another second before the video he'd found was playing, and Lance had curled himself up on the couch, getting comfy.

It opened with a shot of Keith, the smallest, slightly uncomfortable smirk at the very corner of his lips. Lance had to take a second to pause and admire it- he'd only ever seen one upturn of the boy's lips, and that'd been when they hadn't known much about each other. Not that they knew much about each other now anyway. So he pressed play not long after.

"Hey, uhm, so it's Keith again-… it's been a little while- hah, sorry… about the break there for a bit. Anyway, for today I'll be staying overnight in this hotel. Or, really the, uh, Dalsday Inn in the small town of Dalsday, Maine. Apparently, a-uhh, about two years ago in the spring there were multiple murders here that spanned more than just one room. Three different rooms were broken into, leaving four people murdered brutally. All were found tied to chairs, mouths taped and suffocated using plastic bags."

The background of the video began to move, suggesting that Keith was walking as he was also the one holding the camera to show his face. His voice was different than Lance was accustomed to hearing. There seemed to be bated exhilaration in it, but like he was trying to play it off as general enthusiasm but just couldn't 100% pull it off.

"The man responsible was found roughly a week after the horrific events, dead in the dumpster of the same place he committed his crimes. His death was officially labeled an overdose on heroin. Since the incident, there have been reports of supernatural activity in and around the hotel, particularly in the rooms where the four people met their deaths."

The video suddenly took a pan away from the absolutely adorable face- in Lance's professional opinion, of course- and instead to a large building. It was beige, grey and white in color. Bland and nondescript. It looked a strange mix of a small town's only inn, which it was, and some sort of lower-end chain hotel.

"And… this is the place. Unfortunately the rooms that began it all are no longer available to rent, as they were more trouble to keep open than to shut down. So I had to settle for one across the hall. Either way, I hope to get some good action if I can. I guess we'll just have to see how tonight turns out, guys."

For the rest of the video and the subsequent binging of the entire channel, Lance got lost in the ways that Keith spoke, all his mannerisms and rather awkward intros. Actually, if Lance was being honest, he could never identify a moment when Keith didn't have a slightly strained and off-put edge to his words. Like he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and was uncomfortable in front of a camera despite how this channel was now roughly three years old.

He would ramble sometimes; not able to get a grasp on his excitement for the topic he was speaking about. He'd always catch himself, though, and give a strange sort of apology for going off and then it'd cut to something else quickly. He never did loosen up, did he?

His cuts were blunt, and so was everything else he said. He never put frilliness in his words, always got right to the point. If whatever happened in his next location was particularly harsh, he might have cut a few details, but generally nothing was spared. And somehow, no matter how disgusting or terrifying Lance found the topics, he couldn't manage to quit thinking that Keith was absolutely, terribly endearing.

How sometimes if it was a long, uneventful night he'd end up talking about this or that to fill up the time, like the newest blade he'd gotten. It was always nervous seeming, though, as if he was unsure if he really wanted to share the information or if the audience wanted to hear. Even through what seemed to be the camera-anxiety the boy had, there were the most determined undercurrents of stubborness; of resilience and enthusiasm.

Lance had to commend him. Really. The dead man wasn't sure that he'd be able to keep up with something that made him as distressed as it seemed to make Keith for that long. It made him wonder why it was that Keith even stuck with it in the first place, though. Maybe it was some sort of odd satisfaction, or maybe it was the rush he got.

Either way, Lance was glad the boy had done all this. It was just so… absolutely strangely sweet. To see how he had changed over the three years on the channel, to see how he still retained his on-guard and uptight ridges but clearly had physically and morally grown up.

It didn't feel like any time when the young ghost noticed the sun beginning to peak through the blinds. Oh, had he really been watching Keith's channel for that long? Wow, he was really into that- more than he thought he was.

He was a little confused at the fact that Keith had never barged in on him and told him to shut the TV off because he was going to sleep. But he also wasn't going to complain, either. It was just so heartwarming to watch, although a little creepy based on the theme- but still. His un-beating heart didn't flutter at near-deadly speeds just because of mortal fear.


	6. Chapter 6

It was later that morning when Lance finally decided he should quit binge watching all of his housemate's videos like a teenage girl obsessed with her newest show. Keith probably wouldn't appreciate such ideas and actions, especially not in his own home.

So he stood for the first time in hours, stretching out and barely receiving even a modicum more comfort in his aching muscles and bones. Gosh, he felt _old._ How does that work? He felt a hundred years old, but in reality he hadn't physically aged a day over the day he died- which was at the fruitful age of twenty two.

He could really do with a back massage. But fat chance of that when the only person who knew he was still around probably hated him. And second that no one could actually touch him. So he was stuck as he was.

Two minutes after he stood and was well into his internal debate about what to do today, he was terribly shaken from his thoughts by the pleasing rasp of the other's voice. Heavy with sleep but weighed by importance; his tone was alarming whether or not Lance expected it.

"Lance,"

And when Lance spun to see the other, who leaned in the doorframe to his bedroom- clad in nothing but briefs and a comfy looking shirt- he noticed that those lovely violet-grey irises could focus on nothing. He lamented that in his mind. What he wouldn't give to have someone actually, honestly look at him if only it was once.

When no response came, Keith began speaking again anyway.

"I want to know more about how you died."

Oh, well, now that was a question. Thanks for asking, Keith, could I get how you died too? Oh, wait- my bad. You didn't die. Sorry. Only Lance died. What's the point of this again?

"I-... know that's pretty straightforward, but I'm interested. And, if I'm being totally honest I, uh.. I wanna know more about, well… I wanna know more about _you._ " the young man's arms crossed, eyes glaring holes into the hardwood floors, but his voice- despite occasionally cutting off and being interjected by fillers- was unwavering.

Lance didn't quite know how to respond. That seemed like a lot to write out. But then again, it was worth it… after all, he hadn't talked to anyone else in any other way in so long that he was pretty desperate for a thorough outlet about what happened no matter the media.

So, he retook a seat on the very end of the couch and picked up his notepad and pen. Waving the pen around to motion for Keith to come sit, he stared down at the slightly faded blue lines. He didn't know how to start.

Since when was starting a story hard for Lance? Hah, maybe since he died…

Keith took a seat on the cushions, placed precariously on the edge- like he was ready to bolt if something went wrong. He looked stiff and unsure, curious yet guarded. And Lance wished for a moment that he could ease that. He couldn't.

'So, what exactly do you wanna know? Like, in detail the night I died or like what? My friends, family?'

Instead of facing the monster that was picking his own topic to start, he shoved that responsibility onto the inquirer. Of course, when would anyone ever deal with their own problems? But Keith took a moment to read the lines, and from how many times his eyes flitted around, you might assume he read it two or three times.

"All of it…" an exhale, soft and anxious, "You can start with how you died, though? But- I- sorry, I… you don't _have_ to answer, I'm just-..."

Keith's awkward apologies were promptly cut off by the notepad being shoved in his face, forcing him to shut up and instead read the words Lance wrote.

'It's fine. I'd like to talk about it.'

So, then, Keith fell silent. His lips curled into a light frown and his eyebrows pulled into a faint furrow. Stress outlined his face, like he was contemplating whether this was a good idea or not. Whether he should run before he made commitments.

But either way, Lance began writing.

'Well, it was a pretty normal night. Got home from work at like, uh, I think it was eleven? I dunno. Anyway, a Thursday night if I'm correct? I've lost track of days, kinda. So shut and locked my door like I do every time I come home, took off my shoes, dropped my bag- all that ish. Nothing really seemed different in the place. Everything was where it had been.'

The writing took a brief pause. And Keith couldn't even begin to figure out why it did. It could have been fear, stress, panic from reliving it- hell, just trying to remember the events correctly could have worked. And he had nothing but a pause to go off of.

'So I went to take a shower. Cause people do that, y'know. And I was tired, too. As I walked into my bathroom though, guard totally down, mind you, well' another sudden, unexplained pause, 'he was just… there.'

This was the part where Lance began to feel cold, it became hard to keep the movements of his hand as precise as usual. Tears began to fill his eyes. Oh, God. Reliving this was _so_ much harder than he thought it would be.

'Sitting there, right on the lip of the tub. Waiting. And I was _terrified._ I mean, who's this? In my bathroom? Why? I almost booked it right then, too, and it really would've been smart for me to. I should've. I wish I had… but of course I didn't. My mind couldn't figure itself out enough to make my feet work. So I just stood there like a deer in headlights as'

The pen fell, hitting the ground with faint taps and then nearly rolling under the couch. Lance could so vividly remember it all, the pain, the fear. Tears were already falling, mourning the end of his life. But he picked the pen up and continued.

'he stood up, this wicked grin on his face. I really did start to run when he stood, but, somehow he was faster. I don't know how, it was really a blur. I think he snatched onto my leg or something. I do know I hit my head hard on the wall. And then next thing I know I'm sat on the toilet lid, my hands in those horrible zip-ties- biting into my wrists. I can see the marks still…'

Keith had to stop himself from reading the words that shakily appeared for a moment. This was a lot. Reading how someone died from the perspective of the person after the fact. Knowing there wasn't a happy ending to the story, that there was no making it out _alive._

'and then, gosh, I was already crying- but he just, he just taped my mouth and told me to shut up. I think it was after that I kind of went into a daze, my own world where this wasn't happening. But it was and before I knew it I was yanked by my hair to the ground. I didn't know what was happening for longer than it should've taken, though… and then- God, my pants are down and I feel it, and then everything just hurts.'

Keith, in complete honesty, had not been expecting that twist. Rape? Really? The jovial mess of an upbeat ghost he lived with had been raped before he died. He almost had trouble believing it- but he could see the unfakeable tremor in the pen, the smallest stains of tears on the page.

'Sorry that I don't want to… go into much detail about that, it just lasted so so long and it hurt so much… I was so scared, so violated, and I kept thinking that if I just didn't think about it it wasn't actually happening. And that it'd end eventually and I'd be okay and I could get over it. What an idiot I was. Cause the second it was over, and I was finally coming back to my senses, all I could hear was the faucet running.'

Keith bit his lip in anticipation, leaning ever so forward, chest tightening in the grips of a fear he wasn't sure he'd felt much before. His fists clenched in his lap, anxiety flooding through his system.

'I was so disoriented, for a second I could convince myself it was some horridly vivid nightmare and I'd just fallen asleep when running the bath, cause I _was_ really tired getting home and I do have a tendency to fall asleep randomly. But then it all just…' another pause, 'Suddenly my head was under the water, the tape was off, hands at my neck holding so tight I couldn't move it and it dug into my skin.'

He had to turn the page then, because even though he'd been scribbling his words outside of the lines his handwriting had been large enough to fill a page. The slow crinkle of the paper emphasized just how deathly silent it was in the room.

'It took so long for it all to end. He just kept pulling me back up, letting me have a second of reprieve, and then I'd go back under and I'd feel all the suffocating start over. I don't even know how long it went on for, it felt like hours… and then finally he just left me under. Squeezed my neck harder than he had been before, I swear it felt like it was going to break. And the hand marks are still there, too…'

Keith thought it was over. Oh, God, he hoped it was over. He did so much- but he also knew that Lance had wanted it to be over more than anyone in the world. More than anyone could know.

'It took ten days for my body to be discovered.' ten days? Ten days. 'Ten days of sitting there as a new ghost, watching my body deteriorate, lose coloration. Watching my hair float in the bathwater, watching myself just sit there, never moving. Dead, gone, in such a state of disrepair it made my stomach feel sick. I don't remember who found me, I don't remember what happened. I just kind of… sat in a haze until the next tenant moved in. I don't know if the guy ever got caught… but then it's history'

And, with that, Keith was thoroughly shocked. It was hard for his mind to wrap around. That he just read the entire recount of someone's rape and subsequent death. That it wasn't just a report in the media anymore, it wasn't just a couple pictures of some dead stranger.

No, he knew the in depth and personal look on it. And it gave him an entirely new perspective. One that he'd thought he'd been able to reach before. But, oh God was this real. So, so real.

He hadn't been expecting it to be so heavy. He knew, yes, that someone here had been murdered by drowning. And he knew that person was Lance. But he'd never looked much farther than that. Stupid, don't you think?

It probably would've been smart for him to have looked more into the articles instead of just a scan. But he hadn't, and now it was all revealing itself with all its twisted, fucked up winding roads. Keith couldn't even imagine the horror the other must have been in- how traumatic it would be.

He felt traumatized and it hadn't even been him being killed. But this all didn't stop his brain from rethinking it all once it had finally processed. How painful it'd be to breathe in water, to feel like you'll finally be able to let go, and then be ripped from it and plunged back in from the start.

It was like dying while defeating the ultimate boss when the bad guy only had one hp left and then having to start over from scratch. Except infinitely worse.

But then, that's when he heard it. A gasp. Tiny and pain-ridden; reminiscent to a sort of sob it was. And then more sounds, all shuddering breaths and heart-wrenching moans. Teary coughs and hyperventilating inhalations.

And Keith was sure it wasn't just his imagination. Was he… was he hearing Lance? Was he actually hearing Lance? Hearing him cry over his own death, hearing the racking sobs that sent the alive boy's chest and stomach aflame with clenching pain?

"L-Lance?" he questioned. He had to be sure, "Lance, are you… crying?" he realized then just how stupid that question was. Of course the boy would be crying. Duh. But he was actually trying to ask if he was really hearing it.

It was a couple seconds more of the torturous wailing that the violently shaking pen was brought to the paper. But the invisible hands couldn't manage to move correctly, no letters could be written, and as he tried to write something, the pen fell out of his untrustworthy grasp.

A choked 'yes' came out of the ghost's mouth, a final effort, a plea that Keith could hear him maybe. Even though he knew it was unlikely. But for Keith, this just set his whole mind off into a crazy spiral. He could hear Lance, clear as day right beside him.

"Lance, I can hear you- oh, God, I can hear you." Keith stared in the direction of the harrowed sounds, sad and confused. Shocked.

"Y-You… yo-you can hear me?" the poor boy couldn't manage his words without involuntary stutters, the closing up of his throat was terribly obvious in the tone of his voice. It broke Keith's heart to hear such despair, no matter how irritating he generally found the guy.

"Yes…" he spoke softly, eyes falling to the ground. What was he supposed to do? He never knew how to comfort people- especially not people who were reliving their death. What a sentence that was. "I can hear you…"


	7. Chapter 7

Silence had lingered between the two after the sudden development. Well, as silent as it could get with Lance still desperately trying to reign in his crying.

Keith didn't know how to comfort the other. After all, he couldn't touch him still, and that was quite the obstacle. Because, while Keith wasn't good with consolations on the whole, he was particularly bad with verbal gestures. And now that was what he was limited to- he couldn't offer an extremely awkward hug if he wanted to.

Not that he'd want to do that either, though. Being physically close was scary. So, in consideration of all these problems, he was left with essentially nowhere to go. No idea which path to take. Until, of course, Lance spoke.

"I-I'm sorry. Uh," he seemed to clear his throat then, "I don't- I didn't even know I could cry like that- I don't need to breathe really so… I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry…" Keith shook his head quickly- he didn't want the other to feel apologetic. There was no reason for that, "It… it's understandable to cry over that. Uh, Lance…"

He paused himself. What did he even want to say? Gosh, this was such a mess. He knew he needed to extend some sort of olive branch. But he didn't have the first clue about this kind of thing.

"What would… what could I do that would make the place less lonely when I leave for work?"

There was another long silence after that. Keith was contemplating all the reasons what he said had been absolutely incompetent and unhelpful, while Lance was just processing what was said.

And then there was a strangled chuckle, coarse from the previous overuse of vocal cords but with honest entertainment.

"What could make it less lonely, you say?" Lance spoke softly, like if he went over a certain volume it'd break something and still with the same crackle of misuse. "A cat would."

At least he was being honest. He'd always wanted a cat. He'd only ever had one when he was younger, a fat black and white long haired mix named Yodi, whom he loved dearly. Though they never could figure out just what he'd been. But he'd died when Lance was seven, and he'd never had another cat again.

So he wanted a cat.

"A cat?" Keith questioned with a tilt to his head. He was genuinely curious- he'd expected Lance to be a dog person or something. Like he, himself was. That was funny, their opinions were the opposite of what you'd expect. "I think I can do that…"

"Wait, really?" suddenly a clang of eagerness joined the mixed up tones, overriding all the others. Keith could only imagine the expression that could go along with it.

"Yeah… do you have like, any particular breeds that you want?" wow, Keith was actually committing to owning a cat for the ghost that he lived with. That was… _something._ "But you're gonna have to do the litter- and the feeding and shit."

"Ah, yes, of course! I have nothing better to do anyway. Gosh! I want a golden tabby, a boy. Please?" and here you could very confidently claim that the two were acting like a child and a parent with how they spoke about the possible new addition to the household.

"I- uh, I'll see what I can do?" and at this point the child-parent dynamic fell apart. Now it was just Keith being awkward Keith. "Do you… have a reason for wanting a male golden tabby?"

"Yes, actually. Male cats are always nicer than female cats- and goldens on the whole tend to be super lovey. So I can cuddle with it! Also, tabbies just look too cute when they get all chubby…"

It was really amazing how fast Lance could change moods. Because all the sudden, the notepad had been forgotten and dropped onto the coffee table, the previous topic's harsh grips all but defeated.

"Oh, well, uh, okay." nice one, Keith. Such a lovely response. Truly graceful. Try again, "Mm, well, I'll go to a shelter in the next couple days, you- you do some research. I… I'll leave one of my laptops here and give you a login. Just, do what you like on it- _don't_ break it though, because I swear-"

"Oh, come on! I'm careful, I'm not gonna break it! Such little faith you have in me." Lance was quick to cut in, grinning from ear to ear. And I mention this because you could just _hear_ it, clear as day.

"Uh huh, yeah. 'Cause it's totally implausible that you'd accidentally break something." Keith rolled his eyes, huffing. There we are, the sting instead of the unease. Good job, Lance. You've done well.

"Yes! It is! I've never _once_ broke one of your things." was the boasting reply, and Keith could imagine the ghost puffing up his chest and crossing his arms confidently.

"And what's to say you won't in the future? Also, you haven't had a chance to break anything- I haven't given you permission to touch anything you _could_ break." Keith shook his head and turned away, slouching into the couch tiredly. It'd been too early to wake up.

"Oh, come on! You'll never have trust in me if you don't try at least once!" and that actually was an appealing argument. Way to go, Lance.

"I…" Keith began but trailed it off in an annoyed grumble of a huff. Gosh, why did Lance have to actually be okay at persuasion? "Wait- I was never telling you not to use my laptop? Hold on, that… oh, you asshole. I was actually giving you permission and you assumed things!"

"Yeah, because you were legitimately saying that I'd probably break it."

"No! I wasn't! I was saying you better not break it, not that you _would._ It's what anyone would say!"

"Well, you kept up the argument and said I probably would break things after!"

"But that was after _I_ was accused!"

"Since when were you accused!?"

"Since you butted in and said I had no faith in you!"

"Well, do you? Huh? Do you have faith in me?"

"I- ugh, Lance!" a hand was frustratingly tangled in the young man's hair, gripping it so tight it probably pulled out a few strands. Gosh was this fucking ghost a pain in the ass. "Fuck you."

"In. Your. Dreams."

Keith could do nothing but send the deadliest glare to the general direction he assumed Lance was in, looking positively livid. He couldn't even work through his ire enough to give a verbal response. So, he stood promptly and began stopping away to his own room.

But of course, it wasn't that easy. Cause the second he went to leave, something latched onto the hem of his shirt. And then words followed that up, desperate and apologetic.

"Wait, Keith! Look, I'm sorry. Don't go!"

God, could he ever catch a break? Apparently not.

"Let go of me, Lance. If you wanted me to stay you shouldn't have argued!" he turned with his arms firmly crossed, inflection exasperated.

"Hey, wait, wait. Maybe I _did_ start the argument, but I'm apologizing now! And that should count for something at least." Lance, hun, you're such a sweetheart. It's sad that Keith isn't good at handling such appeals.

So, the alive one of the two just groaned and turned away, still very intent on storming out of the conversation. Which Lance reluctantly let him do. He wished he hadn't, but… he also knew that in his waking life he'd tended to be overly dramatic and needy. And he didn't want to be that for Keith now.

The door to the other's bedroom slammed shut, a loud echo in the silence persisted even after. What a sad sound that was. But Lance couldn't find it in himself to allow much self pity to pervade. No, no. He _had_ kinda started it. So this left him desperately searching for yet another thing that might make peace.

Keith on the other hand, couldn't help the irritation that filled him nearly from head to toe. It wasn't just him getting pissy at Lance and all his overconfident mannerisms, but also a little bit about himself. It was all a mess, really.

Lance was quite a person. Keith couldn't even begin to truly explain the other- there were too many edges and winding roads. One minute he's a cocky-ass bastard who can barely even back up his claims and just gets in your way, and the next? Well, the next he's as sweet sugared strawberries dipped in white chocolate and topped with whipped cream.

Now there's an exaggeration if I've ever heard one. What are you thinking, Keith? That guy isn't _that_ sweet, he's just… considerate. Sometimes. And in those times he's inordinately considerate- and he really does try.

So it's unwarranted in how confusing it is. Does Lance mean to be a douchebag bro-y kind of guy? Is that who he really is? Or is he just a sweet childish sweetheart who's only trying his best and working with what he's got? Oh, Keith had never tried to figure out a person this much…

Ugh, maybe it's true that only time will tell.


End file.
